Cut it Up Small

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It’s truly crazy.

Every time I cut up an onion to prepare a sauce I hear my Dad’s voice in my head:

“Cut it up small.”

I don’t think I was more than 10 years old when he told me that. He used to grab one of us on Sunday morning to teach us the tricks of the trade.

We all learned to make great sauce.

The thing is, I have never quite got his marinara down. Mine is good to very good. His was absolutely ridiculous, and my brother Jeff really had it down as well.

I can’t ask them now!

I know that a great olive oil is required and garlic and onion (cut up small) of course, but the spices may be where I’m a tad off. Dad used a log of basil and black pepper. 

Kathy doesn’t want things too spicy, so I take a better run at it when I’m cooking for myself.

The thing is...

...it’s all about that little voice in my head.

That’s the cool part of cooking some 37 years later.

My boys haven’t stood beside me and helped as I’ve made the sauce, but lately there have been signs.

“I made some of the clams,” Jake texted me the other night.

For years and years they would turn up their noses as I made clam dishes on Wednesday nights.

“Just try a couple,” I told them.

Since then, I’ve had to buy a ton of clams.

And I’ve noticed them watching, and participating in the eating.

The thing is:

I’m not going to know what they are going to remember some 30 or 40 years from now.

I’m sure there will be plenty of lessons there.

That’s the thing about sons and Dads.

Sentences stick.

Lessons are learned.

Actions are imitated...

...and I’ve done my best to put my best foot forward.

I ate pretty well yesterday.

The sauce was pretty damn good...

...but not quite perfect.


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